The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘I didn’t mean to imply that you were spoilt. I appreciate the Mondelli name has been a mixed blessing for you.’

‘And the Markos name?’ she said, glad to be able to turn the conversation onto him. ‘Has that been a mixed blessing for you?’

He raised a shoulder. ‘The Markos name is nothing special. It doesn’t stand for anything.’

‘Yes, it does. It stands for hard work, determination and guts.’

‘Guts?’

‘Rocco told me you got into Columbia on a scholarship. That alone tells me how hard you’ve had to work to get where you are.’

‘We all have our crosses to bear, whatever background we’re born into,’ he said quietly. He tapped on the dividing window. Amidst a hail of tooting horns, the car came to a stop. ‘We will walk from here.’

* * *

and out, every one of them taken. Inside, a man played an accordion, the music only just audible above the raucous noise of the patrons, while pictures of celebrities lined the walls in haphazard fashion above empty bottles of wine with melted candles rammed

largest pot belly she’d ever seen ambled over to them, his arms outstretched. In

doesn’t

hand was ignored as she was wrenched from Christian’s hold and yanked into Mikolaj’s embrace, which finished with an affectionate ruffle of her hair, much

sitting comfortably—although how comfortable anyone could be when crammed like a sardine

She waited for him to move them but realised there was literally nowhere else for them to go unless he twisted to the side and tripped up all the

her neck around, trying to ignore the

his eyebrows. ‘You like

‘This is exactly how I imagined a Greek restaurant to be. You can feel the energy—you

that had caused its construction? Or had

apart from the food?’ he said. ‘It’s tourist-proof—all the

tell me

This is

this busy?’ It was a Monday